


Back to Good

by alby_mangroves, chicklette



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Drawing, Explicit Sexual Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Illustrated, M/M, Mild Angst, Multi, Past Riley/Sam Wilson, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson Feels, Taking Care Of Sam, mention of Riley's death, mention of iron man, tony stark is not terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: In the spring of 2017 three things happened that changed Sam Wilson’s life forever:  First, the Accords were dissolved and all related “crimes” committed prior to their repeal were sealed and the sentences commuted.  Second, one James “Bucky” Barnes (aka the Winter Soldier), came out of Cryo, was successfully deprogrammed, and chose to live with one Steven Grant Rogers (aka Captain America) as he tried to make his way in the brave new world.  Third, Samuel Thomas Wilson (aka The Falcon) fell in love with Bucky Barnes.  This wouldn’t ordinarily be of note, save for the fact that he was already in love (and living in glorious sin with) the previously mentioned Steve Rogers.Oh, and there’s also the small matter of how Sam handles his post-mission adrenaline drop.  (Hint: he doesn’t.)





	Back to Good

**Author's Note:**

> Art by alby_mangroves and written for the [ Sam Wilson Birthday Bang.](https://www.tumblr.com/search/sam+wilson+birthday+bang)
> 
> Beta'd by Buffyscribbles, and oh_no_oh_dear (can i just !!!! at that, because if you have not read [oh_no_oh_dear's fic,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear) you are missing out on some of the best Sam that ever Sam'd) was good enough to give it sensitivity read. This fic is better because of both of these amazing people, and I just don't know what I did to deserve their kindness. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> One of pieces of art for this is NSFW, but is ALSO absolutely glorious.

Getting Back to Good

 

 

 

“On your left.”

Sam groans and Bucky chuckles as Steve laps the two of them on their morning run.

“Show off,” Sam yells after him, and Steve tosses his hand up in a backward wave before sprinting out of sight.

“He’s a menace,” Sam says, and Bucky laughs before taking the lead.  Sam follows because Bucky’s keeping a regular pace, which is a jog for Bucky, but a pretty solid run for Sam.  He figures if he’s hanging out with Super soldiers, he’d better keep himself in perfect shape.

The next time Steve swings back around, Bucky yells out, “go on ahead,” letting Steve off the leash for their morning run.  

“You sure?” Sam and Steve say in unison.  

“No offense, pal,” Bucky says to Steve.  “But I ain’t tryin to run a marathon every morning like you are.”

“Buck,” Steve laughs, but picks up his pace.  “Okay.  See you back at the house?”

Bucky nods and Sam chimes in, “Don’t forget to make the coffee.”  

Steve turns around, jogging backward.  “But Bucky makes it better.”

“Not an excuse,” Sam says, and Steve grins before turning around and pumping up the speed.

Within a few blocks, he’s out of sight and assumedly heading off to Prospect Park and his favorite trail.  

Sam runs in the mornings because he likes the quiet of the world before it wakes up, and because in his other life, he’s the Falcon, and that wing pack is heavy as fuck.

Bucky runs because he loves Steve and Sam, but even so, he usually only joins them every other day.  Left to his own devices, he’ll sleep ten, twelve hours a day, or sometimes just stay in bed all day, reading a book and drinking endless cups of coffee.  

 

 

“Come on,” Bucky says, leading Sam in a new direction.

Sam follows, curious.  Bucky pretty much always stays on the same path: past the elementary school, up along the docks, then circling around past either Della’s Donut Shop or ACME bakery, depending on whether he wants savory or sweet with his morning coffee.  Sam personally prefers the beignets from Rays, but that’s in the East Village and Sam is definitely not running that far first thing in the morning.  Or ever, really.

A few blocks in, Bucky comes to a stop at a five story walk up.  He pulls a key from his pocket and takes the steps to the basement door, unlocks it, and goes inside, holding the door for Sam.  

“Just give me a minute,” he says, and Sam guesses that’s all the explanation he’s going to get.  

He looks around.  It’s cool and dark inside; small.  It reminds Sam of a bunker, the way it’s dark and closed up.  There’s a cot and a chair and a side table and a fridge.  Bucky opens it and takes out two bottles of water, hands one to Sam.

“You looked thirsty,” he says and Sam bolts the water.  It’s cool but not cold, like the room.

Sam takes his bottle and drinks it, watching Bucky because what in the actual fuck is this?

“Okay if we head back?” Bucky asks, and Sam gives him a level look, a _we’re fucking talking about this later_ look, and Bucky shrugs, _okay, cool._  He slips the key under the mat at the front door, gives Sam a long look and takes off at a Sam run, which is really a Bucky jog.

When Sam brings it up two days later, Bucky just says, “Everyone needs someplace quiet, you know?”  And that’s that.

Two weeks later and they’ve just cleared a Hydra cell on the lower East Side.   _Motherfuckers._  When they get back to Stark Tower, Sam doesn’t make a conscious decision to fuck off from the Avengers and go fuck himself over.  He doesn’t _decide_ to lie to them, go MIA and hole up to have his own private little breakdown.

Still, when he says to Steve, “I’ve got some things to do, after, might be a while,” the small part of him that knows better (tiny at this point, tiny and screaming at him for all it's worth) cringes.  When he drops the wing pack and leaves it on a bench for whoever it is that keeps the Avengers shit so nice and tidy, he tells himself that he’s just going to make a quick stop.  Nothing really.  It will be nothing.

Pulling the key out from behind the loose brick, Sam lets himself into the Bunker of Bad Ideas, as he’s taken to calling it in his mind.

If one of his guys was doing this, he’d be chewing their ass so hard it’d be bloody.

But that doesn’t stop him.

Fucking Barnes.

.

When Sam walks back into their apartment he pretends not to see the look on their faces.  He pretends he isn’t dehydrated and strung out, and he pretends that he didn’t drink a quart of cool – not cold - Gatorade (Arctic Cherry, his favorite flavor – he pretends _that’s_ a coincidence too) out of the fridge in the Bunker of Bad Ideas.  

Steve is in the kitchen and the scent of food hits Sam hard, makes his stomach growl and churn.  Roasted chicken with those potatoes cooked in the chicken fat, with rosemary and lemon - one of Sam’s favorites, unless he misses his guess.  He knows that tonight he will eat all the carbs and that Steve will have that smile at the corner of his mouth, the smug one that says he was right to like Sam, because on nights like this, Sam steals the potatoes off of Steve’s plate, when he thinks Steve’s not looking.

 

 

He hardly makes it through dinner with his eyes open and sacks out almost immediately after.  Bucky crawls into bed with him, offers himself in any way that Sam might want, with a touch to his thigh and a kiss to his temple and an arm around his waist.  Sam fights off a tremble and says “I’m wiped, Buck, just wanna be alone,” so Bucky leaves and Sam shivers, shivers in the bed.  (He pretends not to notice the heat streaming from the vent at 8 o’clock on an August night in New York, too.)  He falls asleep alone and wakes up the same way.  None of them sleeps well unless all of them sleep well.

The next morning Bucky and Steve make a monster breakfast.  There are eggs, bacon, ham steaks, pancakes, toast, hash browns, and fruit salad with fat, ripe berries that Bucky eats with his fingers.  After, they laze.  Steve puts his hand on his stomach and half-heartedly sketches something he can only see in his head, and Bucky hands Sam a Kindle with a new assortment of books on it, already opened to the one that Bucky wants him to read first.  Bucky putters, hair up in a bun with loose strands hanging down (that hipster motherfucker), doing the dishes and tidying up.  He collects the laundry from around the house and fusses with the washing machine.

Sam tries to read the book but mostly he just spaces out.  He sees Riley’s face, the shock of the fall, the way he’d reached out for Sam and the resignation when he knew that Sam couldn’t reach him.  Sam tries to freeze it in his head.  He rewinds and fast-forwards, never sure which is better – the fear, the shock, or the resignation.  He spends the day watching that reel, over and over and over.

The shadows are long, and the sky dusky and orange when Bucky hands him a glass of bourbon.  Bucky clicks buttons and music plays; Sam recognizes the notes from his ‘Easy’ play list as Bucky’s hand circles his wrist, pulling Sam up.

“Come on back to us now, Sam,” he says, voice low and scratchy, and pulls Sam in tight for a dance.  Nothing fancy, though Bucky’s taught him how to Lindy, as Steve watched and clapped and howled.  “Come back,” Bucky says, and eases him into a slow, loose rhythm, all body and chest and arms, one strong leg between his thighs. Bucky brings him close, his face right next to Sam’s and Sam can feel each breath that Bucky exhales against the shell of his ear.  Bucky’s right elbow rests on Sam’s shoulder, and forearm against the back of Sam’s head.  He doesn’t know what to do with himself when Bucky’s like this sometimes – intense and needing Sam to be Sam, and working hard to coax him back into himself.  He doesn’t know what it says about _them,_ that they never talk about this.

Sam eases away a bit and takes a sip of bourbon.  Bucky’s eyes grow dark and then he’s there, kissing the taste of it out of Sam’s mouth.  Bucky’s always been the one to bring Sam back when he does this – goes to the shadowy places inside of his own mind.

He feels it when Steve slips behind him, the wall of firm chest at his back, the hands on his shoulders, sliding down his arms. They’re both crowding up on him, both holding him, making a space between them, and holding him inside of it.

Steve’s hands end up on Sam’s hip bones, and Bucky continues to lick the bourbon right out of Sam’s mouth.  It’s heady, the way these two men want him.  It gets his blood up, every damn time.

A slow dance later, and he’s caught between grinding his ass back against Steve, or grinding his dick against Bucky.  He wants them both, wants to be inside of them, deeper inside than just skin.

Steve guides them into the bedroom, where they kiss and kiss and kiss, until Sam aches with it, his guys and the way they care for him.  They bring each other off with broad, strong hands and quiet, panted breaths and Sam doesn’t wake up sticky, but he doesn’t remember falling asleep.

.

“Sam!  Sam!  Where are you?”

“Southwest corner, coming down.  I see him, Cap.”

“What do you need?”

“Well, someone could dial back that sun a little bit, since you’re offering.” Sam winces as the sun shines into his eyes.  The goggles cut a lot of the glare, but he’s still seeing sunspots.

Sam hears Cap’s soft chuckle in his earpiece as he makes a fast dive, swooping down to pluck an AIM agent off a balcony ledge as he tries to rappel down the side of the building.  

“Now where you think you’re going, hmm?”  Sam asks as he dangles the agent by one arm.  

“Barnes, incoming,” Sam says.

“Got ‘im,” Bucky answers, and drops into position as Sam drops the agent onto an adjacent rooftop.  

“And that’s a wrap,” Cap says.  “Thanks--”

An explosion on the rooftop echoes both in real life and on his comm.

“Bucky?  Buck, are you there?  Sam!”  Cap’s voice goes from worried to panicked as there’s no response from Barnes.

Sam angles his wings and pushes, punching hard up into the sky.

“Barnes!  Goddamn you, answer me!” Sam yells, pushing himself to fly higher, faster.

There’s nothing but static, and then the whine of feedback, making Sam wince.

“Bucky?!  Buck, come on!” Sam hears the fear creeping into Cap’s voice and he finds it clutching at his own heart.  

“Come on, Barnes,” Sam whispers, eyes wild as he crests the top of the building, searching everywhere for Bucky.  He flips the heat and motion screens on his goggles, zooming in on anything warm that moves.

There’s a sob building in his chest as nothing registers.

“Goddammit, Barnes,” he mutters.  “Goddammit.”

There’s a flicker in the lower left corner of his goggles.  

“Barnes!” Sam yells.  “Barnes!”

“What do you see, Sam?”  Cap’s voice is low, and hopeful in Sam’s ear.

Out of the smoking rubble, Sam sees a glint of metal, and taps his goggles to zoom in.

There’s a shift, and the metal arm punches through blocks of concrete and scraps of rebar.  Sam flies over and grabs hold of the arm, pulling hard to free Bucky from the mess.

“Got him, Cap.  I got him.”  Sam flies Bucky to safety and sets him down gently.  Bucky’s still shaking off the explosion, looking a little dazed, and Sam’s rescue training kicks in.  He tucks in his wings, strips off his goggles and gives Bucky the once over, gently probing his limbs and torso, looking for injuries.

Fingers dancing along Bucky’s ribs, Sam watches as the bruises start healing before his eyes.  He stops when Bucky groans.  

“Sweetheart, you gonna feel me up like that, shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?”

Huffing a chuckle, Sam sits back, and flicks his Comm.  “He’s okay, Cap.  We’ll be down in a few.”

Sam feels the strangled sob of relief that Steve gusts out clench around his heart.  “Steve, he’s okay.”

“Bet ‘yer ass I am,” Bucky says, sitting up.  

Holding Bucky’s face in his hands, Sam searches his eyes, first for pupil dilation, and then to confirm that he really is okay.  

A soft smile pulls at Bucky’s lips, and that’s as far as it gets before Sam is pressing his mouth to Bucky’s, breathing hard and fighting the threatening tears.

“Sweetheart, I’m fine,” Bucky says, leaning forward for one more kiss.  

“I’m sorry.  I should have clocked that he was wired for explosives,” Sam says, starting to lose his fight with the tears.

“No way you could have known,” Cap says from behind him.  “You really okay?”

Sam startles for a moment, then looks behind him to see Iron Man flying away.  

Sam’s still not comfortable with Tony Stark, and doesn’t know if he ever will be, but Iron Man is a solid ally and Sam’s always glad to have him in the field.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, rolling up to his feet.  He walks into Steve’s embrace, and Steve holds him tight, pressing a kiss to his hair.  

Sam walks over and the three of them embrace, each getting their bearings as the fear creeps away, leaving relief in its wake.

 _It’s always going to be like this,_ he thinks.  He’s always going to need each of these men, fierce, and with everything he’s got, and they’re always going to need him the same way.

When Sam first realized he was crushing on Bucky, he’d done his best to ignore those feelings.  He loved Steve, and Steve loved him.  Sam knew that Steve and Bucky had been in love before the war, knew that they’d been lovers.  The selfless, self-sacrificing part of him wanted to walk away from Steve, leave him and Bucky to reunite and be happy.  But the smart part, the part of him that knew he deserved love and happiness, that part refused to walk away, refused to be the first one to say goodbye.

Steve brought it up first to Sam.  “I know you want him,” Steve said, his face a careful blank.

“Yeah?” Sam asked.  “You want him too.”

Steve shrugged, confirming Sam’s suspicions.  “Not enough to lose you,” Steve said, reaching for Sam to pull him close.  “I’m not letting you go.”

Sam drew back and looked at Steve, the honesty in his eyes.  “I don’t want to be your second choice, Steve.”

Sam just had time to register the flash of anger, the righteous indignation in Steve’s eyes before the bedroom door slammed open.

“You,” Bucky said, looking at Steve.  “You been the love of my life since I was old enough to know what that was.  That ain’t ever going away.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head.

“And you,” he said, turning to Sam. “You are the pain in my ass I didn’t know I needed.  If we all want to be together, then what exactly is the problem?”

They both stared at him, eyes wide.

“Super powered hearing, sweetheart,” Bucky said, by way of explanation.

It took a couple of weeks of tentative kisses, shy hand-holding and eventually, some downright filthy sex, for the three of them to figure things out.  

It wasn’t conventional, and it wasn’t anything like the dream Sam had once had for himself, but it worked, and it was good.  Better than good.  The three of them balanced each other out in ways that they couldn’t as couples, in any iteration.  It wasn’t just good.  It was _perfect._

Sam snaps back to the present as Bucky throws Sam down and Steve throws the shield over him.  There’s a ping and then the sound of a shot, and an AIM soldier that none of them clocked falls.  Bucky opens the metal fingers on his hand and there’s the lump of a bullet in his palm.  The lump of a bullet that would have been in Steve’s head, if Bucky’d been even a second slower.  

Sam’s body trembles as a shiver rolls through him.  

“Goddammit, Tony, are we clear?”  Cap’s anger and irritation flows through his voice.

“That was the last of ‘em.  Good eye, Barnes.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, and Sam sees him visibly shake off the Winter Soldier.  

“Come on,” he says.  “Let’s get out of here.”  

Sam ferries Cap down to the ground first, then Bucky, and the three of them head back to Stark Tower.

Sam makes no excuses. He makes no excuses, just goes for the bunker, the keyring in his hands already shaking.  If he thinks about it, thinks like the rational man that he is, he knows that he needs to talk about this.  He knows that Steve and Bucky will be there for him, that they’ll understand in a way that no one else could.  But Sam isn’t rational, and his instinct to hide pulls him under until he’s breathing fast, trying to outrun his own fear.

In his head, he only sees Riley, the shock, the fear, the resignation.  Then Cap wears that face, falling too fast, the Potomac beneath him, then Bucky - that’s the worst one, because Bucky’s got both arms and he’s reaching for Sam with one of them and Sam is always just an inch too short, a beat too slow, and he has to see the devastation on Steve’s face, all because Sam was just not fucking good enough.

 

 

The sun wanes, turning the room shades of amber and gold, and Sam ignores it.  Ignores the way that night bleeds in, and ignores the way the night starts to fade, the room pinking with the rising sun.  Sam shivers.  He doesn’t hear Steve and Bucky walk in.  He doesn’t hear Steve’s soft swear or Bucky’s low-pitched whine.  He doesn’t notice Bucky sliding back around him, easing between his back and the wall, or Steve on his knees if front of Sam, wiping his own hot tears away.  

At some point he’s rocking, he knows that.  At some point he gets warmer, and at some point he becomes aware of a soft, sure voice in his ear, calling his name, saying it the way that only Bucky Barnes can.  

“Sam, Sammy, Samuel, come back to us, Sam.  Come back to us, please.”  Strong arms around his, holding him tight to a strong chest.  Warm skin, hot skin, the way that Steve’s skin can burn, metabolic rates off the charts, and no wonder he loves his carbs.

A blink and Steve is there, too-blue eyes lost with concern.

“Hi, Sam,” he says, and his voice is soft and gentle and that’s all it takes.

Sam starts crying, bawling really, those deep down sobs, the ones that come from your gut.

“I couldn’t save you,” he sobs.  “I tried, I couldn’t get there, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

His body shakes with sobs again, and he hears a small, wounded sound coming from behind him.

“Sweetheart, no,” Bucky says, and he’s got both strong arms around Sam.

“Sam,” Steve says, and Sam’s being jostled and then he’s got his head on Steve’s shoulder and Bucky pressed right up against his back, and he’s sobbing and they’re rocking, holding him close, letting him get it all out.

When his sobs slow to sniffles, he comes back to himself hard, and all at once.

“Oh,” he groans.  “Shit.”

“You’re tellin’ me, pal,” Bucky says, soft affection in his voice.

“Buck!” Steve’s voice is firm.  “Sam, you okay?”

“I.…” Sam checks himself over, takes note of his thirst, the sore muscles, the gritty feeling in his eyes.  “Yeah, yeah.”

“Jesus,” Steve says, and rocks back a little, taking Sam with him.  “Jesus.”

“Hang on,” Bucky says, and he gets up, and Sam misses him the moment he goes.  He’s back in seconds, a cool bottle of Gatorade in his hand, twisting off the cap.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and hands Sam the bottle.  “Come on and drink this for me, okay?”

He takes the bottle and drinks.  It rankles, the way they both are being so tender with him.  It rankles and yet - and yet he loves it. Loves them for it.  He hates being taken care of – hates _needing_ to be taken care of – but he loves them for doing it.

He closes his eyes and drinks deep, pulling himself back together.

“Thanks,” he says, and finishes off the bottle.  “I - thank you.”

Steve gives him that sweet, dopey smile, the one that makes Sam’s heart do a little fluttery thing inside of his chest.  “Sam, honey, you had us worried.”

“Yeah,” he says, and he feels the hard lick of shame crawl up his spine.  “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Whaaaat?” Steve says, as Bucky says, “No!”

“You don’t-” Bucky starts.

“You have -” Steve says.

“You don’t have a damn thing to be sorry for,” Steve says.  

“If anything, I’m sorry,” Bucky says.  “Sam, I didn’t realize it was this bad.  I never woulda let you be alone.  I should have noticed.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam says, tucking his head into Steve’s neck.  “I got pretty good at hiding it.”

“Look,” Steve says, and Sam can feel the rumble of it against his chest.  “We’re gonna have to talk about this, but right now, I just want to get you home.  That okay with you?”

Exhausted, Sam nods against Steve’s chest and lets the two of them pick him up and put him into Steve’s pick up.  They put him right in the middle of the bench seat, with Bucky driving and Steve all but holding Sam in his lap on the way home.  When they get there, Bucky drops the two of them at the front door, then circles around to park in the lot that they pay way too much for.

Steve marches Sam straight to the bathroom, then sits Sam down while he draws a bath.  

“Come on,” he says, kissing up the column of Sam’s neck while he strips Sam out of his clothes.  “This’ll be hot,” Steve says.  “But your muscles will thank you for it.”  

By the time the bath is ready, Sam is naked and stepping into the hot water.  Bucky comes in, rustles around the towel cabinet for a moment, then makes a happy noise.

“Look what I found,” he says, and holds up a bright yellow bath bomb.

“What is that?” Steve asks, but Sam can already feel the ghost of a smile against his lips.

“That’s the last one,” Sam says.

“So we’ll get more,” Bucky answers, and drops the ball into the water.  It fizzes, leaks yellow and purple all over the water, and releases one of Sam’s favorite scents - honey, lemon and lavender.

“That’s-” Steve starts, then stops.  “That’s amazing.  Why haven’t I seen this before?”

“Because you’re a lousy heathen who still takes military showers, ya punk,” Bucky says.  “If you’d ever join us for a bath, you’d’a had one of these by now.”

Steve stares at them, a puzzled look on his face.  “That’s what you two do in here?”

Bucky looks at him, equally puzzled.  “Yeah, what’d you think?”

“I thought you were having sex, or at least jerking each other off!”

“Hey, just ‘cause you’re a horndog who can’t see a naked man without going half-mast….”

“That’s not - I don’t  - it’s not,” Steve sputters.

“Uh huh,” and Bucky starts stripping down, before sliding into the tub behind Sam, who lays back against Bucky’s chest and floats.  Floats on the warm water, how it’s easing the strain in his muscles, floats on the heady, sweet scent in the air, and floats on the love that each of these men has for him.  

 

 

They saw him, knew he was going too far, and cared enough to bring him back. He didn’t know how much he needed that.  His throat gets tight just thinking about it.

Sam closes his eyes and floats, letting Bucky rub a sponge across his chest, up and down his arms, not washing him, not really, just loving on him some.

It’s good.

By the time the water cools, Steve is back, and there’s a rich, gorgeous smell seeping in from the hall.

“I got Jimmy’s to deliver,” Steve says, popping his head in and bringing over two warm towels that he must have just taken from the dryer.

“Jimmy’s?  Seriously?  Did you get the latkes and the disco fries?”  

“Buck, I just paid the delivery guy over a hundred bucks.  I got everything.”

Bucky smiles and turns to help Sam out of the water.  Steve enfolds him in a hug and a warm towel, and he and Bucky proceed to dry Sam off.

“Not an infant, you two do know that, right?”

“Shut it,” Bucky says, and Steve just hums and wipes down Sam’s legs, pressing a kiss to his hip.

When they get downstairs, the dining room table is loaded with carryout boxes.  Sam can smell maple syrup and spicy milk gravy, and his mouth waters.  

The three of them eat in near-silence, all of them loading up forks and feeding the others when they take of bite of something that’s really delicious, moaning soft against the rich food.  When he’s full enough to seriously regret his life choices, Sam pushes away from the table.

“Can we take you to bed?” Bucky asks, and Sam nods.

Steve leads him up, and Bucky stops into the living room, before bringing up the rear.

Once in bed, he lays himself across Steve, who’s sitting up a little, with a stack of pillows behind him.  Bucky comes up behind Sam, draping himself across Sam’s back, and he should feel sandwiched and squished, but instead he feels safe and so, so loved.

Bucky passes a Kindle over to Steve, and Sam closes his eyes as Steve begins to read, his voice rich and soothing.  

He wakes mid-afternoon, the three of them piled together like puppies, each of them having shifted in sleep.  The moment he stirs, he feels Bucky’s hand tighten across his waist and sees Steve open one lazy eye, a soft smile pulling at his mouth.

“Good morning,” Steve says.

“Not anymore,” Sam answers, because it hasn’t been morning for hours now, judging by the color of the sun slanting through their blinds.  

Bucky sighs and kisses up Sam’s chest.

“How are you?” he asks, voice rusty with sleep.

“I’m…” Sam takes a moment to feel himself out.  Some muscles are a little achy, and his eyes feel a little sticky.  He could probably drink a gallon of water.

But the hurt - that mean, red feeling that’s anger and fear and _impotence_ \- that’s gone.  

“I’m okay,” he says, and he means it.

Steve leans down, kisses the top of Sam’s head.  “Good to hear it,” he says.

“You ready to talk?” Bucky asks, sliding up behind Sam and holding him tight.  It’s  - Sam loves - _loves_ \- being the little spoon, and Bucky knows just how to make him feel safe. Loved.

“Can it wait?” Sam asks, and Steve flashes his stern dad face.  

“We’ll talk about it,” Sam says.  “We will.  But right now, I don’t want to talk.  Right now, I want...I want….”  And he does, his blood running hot with it.

He kisses Steve’s chest, flicks his tongue across one of Steve’s nipples.

Sam loves his men, and he knows that they love him.  He needs to feel it though, needs to show them.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says, and slides up behind him, blanketing him from behind.

Bucky grinds his hips against Sam’s ass, sucking a bruise into the curve of Sam’s neck.

Steve gasps - he’s always so emotive - and then rubs a hand against Sam’s cheek, then pulls, forcing Sam to meet his eyes.

“You sure?” Steve asks, and that’s just like him, too.  Steve always needs to know that each of them is fully consenting before he goes much past a kiss.  That he sees Sam is vulnerable right now both irritates Sam and fills him with gratitude.  There is no one that makes him feel cared for like these two men.  No one.

Sam leans up and kisses Steve, long and deep and dirty, until Steve is chasing the kiss, holding the back of Sam’s head to keep him right there.  Steve makes a soft, low sound in the back of his throat, and Sam starts to get hard, a Pavlovian response to all of the sweet little sounds Steve makes when they have sex.

Bucky’s running his hand up and down Sam’s back, pausing to squeeze his ass, before laying a trail of kisses down Sam’s spine.  Sometimes, every now and then, Sam will get on his knees and let Bucky put his mouth on him, licking him open and making him writhe, before slicking up Sam’s cock and watching as he fucks Steve.  

Thinking about it, Sam pushes his hips back, asking for what he wants without saying a word.

Bucky lets his fingers push into the cleft of Sam’s ass, and Sam bends a knee, opening himself up more.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathes.  “You sure?”

Searching himself, Sam thinks about it until he can’t think about it any further.

It took a long time for Sam to get comfortable with his bisexuality.  He’d had a steady girlfriend during high school, and if a guy caught his eye every now and then, well, that was normal, wasn’t it?  

It wasn’t until Riley grinned up at him one day, with a look that couldn’t be anything other than flirtation, that Sam allowed himself to think that maybe it was more than just looking he wanted.  Riley was good to Sam: kind, patient, letting Sam take the lead anytime they were together, and yeah, Sam fell in love with him; he fell hard.

Riley always preferred to bottom, so it was something that Sam never quite got comfortable with, the idea of something, _someone,_ inside of his body.  It was - it was too vulnerable.  Sam likes being responsible for his partner's pleasure.  He likes to bring Steve or Bucky off, knowing that he’s the one getting them that high, and he’s the one to help bring them back down.  

So it’s a rare occasion that Sam bottoms, that he lets someone else take care of him.  

Checking in with himself now though, it’s exactly what he wants, what he _needs._  It’s time - past time - for him to open up, to let his guys take care of him.

Rolling off of Steve, Sam turns and kisses Bucky, hard and long and deep. He feels Steve turn to his side, running his hand down Sam’s body, cupping Sam’s balls before stroking his cock.  Sam lets out a shaky breath.   

Bucky pulls away, his hand stroking along Sam’s jaw, eyes searching.

“Please,” Sam says.  “I want, I want - I _need_ this.”

“We’ve got you,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Sam’s temple.  

And they do.  Bucky opens Sam up, easy and gentle, and Steve lays with Sam, kissing him breathless, kissing him needy, giving him everything, and then giving him a little more.

It’s incredible.  

“Did you know,” Steve whispers, “that I love your smile?  I still get butterflies when you smile at me.”

Sam can’t help the smile that crosses his face in that moment, and it earns him one from Steve in return.

Bucky climbs back up Sam’s body, tugging at him until he’s on his side, sandwiched between them.

"Did you know that you smell like Christmas?" Buck asks.  "Like a forest and oranges and spice.  All of December smells like you now," he says, and buries his nose into the curve of Sam's neck.

Pressing slick fingers inside of Sam, Bucky tangles his legs with Sam’s, and kisses along his neck.  “I love falling asleep with you, Sam,” he says.  “I love the way you fit right inside of my arms, like you were made for it.”

Sam feels himself blush at that, wants to respond but Steve’s mouth is on his, tying up his tongue.

“I love this spot, right here,” Steve says, and bites down at the spot between Sam’s neck and shoulder.  Sam gasps, clutches at Steve and grinds into him, needing more.

“And I love that noise,” Bucky says, pushing his fingers in deeper, pressing against Sam’s prostate until Sam breathes a breathy moan.

“And that one,” Steve says, stroking Sam’s cock, circling his thumb over the head.

“You make me feel smart,” Bucky says, and he’s lipping at Sam’s earlobe, hot breath ghosting across his face. “Like I’m more than muscle, what they tried to make me.”

Steve makes a noise at that, leans up and kisses Bucky hard, pressing against Sam and pulling the three of them together.

“Love you, Sam,” Bucky says.

“Love you so much,” Steve says, blue eyes earnest, and Sam doesn’t just hear it, he _feels_ it.  He feels sunk down deep inside of the love they have for him.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Bucky says.  “Gonna die if I can’t have you.”  He slides his fingers out of Sam and presses his hard cock up against Sam’s ass.

“Well come on then, baby,” Sam says.  “You two got something for me besides talk?”

Steve nips his lip for that, and Bucky groans, taking the bottle of slick from Steve.

Sam waits for the frisson of fear as Bucky presses into him, but it never comes.  Laying on his side with Bucky behind him and Steve in front of him, the only thing he feels is sexy and wanted and loved.  

Whole. He feels  _whole._

 

 

 

Steve kisses his cheeks, his neck, strokes his side.

“We love you Sam,” he says.  “We love you so much.  Need you so much.”

“We do,” Bucky says in Sam’s ear.  “We love you so much, sweetheart.  Gonna show you every way you let us.  Every way we can.”  Bucky thrusts, slow and deep, and Sam can feel himself coming apart, not just from the sex, stunning and gorgeous in the way it’s pulling them all together as it takes each of them apart, but from the feeling behind it.  Knowing that these two men, these goddamned heroes, they love him enough to _see_ him, enough to take his burden as their own, just for a little while, just so he can rest – it overwhelms him.

Steve has both of their cocks in one slick hand, and he’s kissing Sam all over – face and neck and shoulders, making all those sweet little sounds that wind Sam right up.  Bucky strokes into him slow and steady, one hand on Sam’s hip, his face buried in the back of Sam’s neck, lifting his head now and again to press wet kisses into Sam’s skin, to pant a hot breath against his ear.

“Sam,” Bucky slurs, and his hand grips Sam’s hip hard.  “Come on, Sam.  Come on, honey.”

Steve’s watching Sam with desperate, half-lidded eyes, and Sam can see how he’s holding himself back, desperate to spill but wanting Sam to get there first.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Sam asks, and Steve whines, fist flying across their cocks.  “That’s good, baby.  Come on, let me have it, wanna see it.”

Steve’s eyes roll back at that, and he lets out a long, hot moan as he comes all over the both of them. He’s gorgeous, his cheeks stained red, high up on his cheekbones, mouth opened and lips slick, brows drawn together.  It pulls a grunt from Sam and he feels Bucky’s hand grip his hip harder.

“Fuck,” Bucky pants.  “Jesus, Stevie, fuck,” and he thrusts harder into Sam, his breath coming fast against the back of Sam’s neck.  “You’re so goddamned gorgeous, the both of you,” he says, and wraps his hand around Sam’s dick, stroking Sam in time with his thrusts.

Sam means to hold on, just a little bit longer, just to feel this a little bit more, but it’s already too late.  His orgasm rises through him, catching him in its thrall and he lets it take him, pleasure coursing through every vein.  From far away, he hears Bucky say his name, the way he does when he’s about to come, “Sam, Sam, SAM!” and then there’s nothing but long moments of pleasure, and Sam lets himself have it.  He lets himself go under and feel it, and when he finally comes back to himself, he feels soft and warm and _loved._

The three of them doze after that, and then there’s a warm shower with wet kisses and skin slicked with soap to go with the sleepy, blissed-out smiles that they all share.

Later, over thick sandwiches and sweet-tart lemonade, the three of them talk about what’s been going on with Sam.

“I didn’t realize it got that bad,” Bucky says.  “I thought you just needed some time to decompress.”

It makes sense.  There are whole days sometimes, where Bucky turns in on himself, when he’s coming to terms with an old memory, or fighting back a planted impulse.

“Why didn’t you talk to us, Sam?” Steve asks, and how does he even answer that?  He’s already the weakest of the three of them, except – except maybe he’s not.  Maybe he doesn’t have to be.  Maybe hiding from himself, maybe that’s the weakness.

“Didn’t want you to have to carry me,” Sam says.

“Pal,” Bucky says, and takes Sam’s hand in his.  “Pretty sure that’s what we’re here for.”

The three of them talk some more, and the next morning, Bucky passes him a scrap of paper with a phone number.

“This isn't my therapist,” he explains.  “Didn’t think that would be…right?  But she recommended someone.  Specializes in former military.  Up to you if you want to talk Avenging.  I do, though.  With mine.” Bucky shrugs and presses the paper into Sam’s hand.

“Call her?  For me?”

Steve comes up behind Sam and wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, then rests his head chin on Sam’s shoulder.

“For us,” Steve says, and kisses Sam’s cheek.

Sam looks at the paper in his hand.  Then into Bucky’s blue-grey eyes, and leans a little deeper back into Steve’s embrace.  He thinks about where he’s been, what he’s lost.  Then he looks at what he has, right in front of him.  What he has all around him.

“Nah,” he says, the smile that’s in his heart creeping across his face.  “I’m’a do it for me.”

He hears Steve chuckle in his ear just before Bucky kisses the breath out of him, and he knows everything about this is right where he belongs.

Maybe he can’t do it on his own, but he’s a goddamned lucky man: he doesn’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> Chicklette: First and foremost, I would like to thank the SWBB folks. The mods have been, beyond lovely and gracious to this particular punk who dropped out then dropped back in at the last second. Yeah. Thank you, mods, for putting up with my punk ass AND for setting me up with Alby.
> 
> Next I GOTTA thank Alby who I have known across fandoms, who has been lovely, always, and who knocked out some jaw-droppingly gorgeous art in record time. Listen, I love art. I love fanart, and Alby's art never fails to take my breath away with its detail and beauty. I feel - and this is a word I use sparingly - I feel _**blessed**_ to have had her draw for my story. Art crossposted to Tumblr in Alby's [Back to Good tag](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/tagged/back-to-good)
> 
> Lastly and not leastly is Buf, who is there for me in so many ways. Girl, I am so thankful to have you in my life. <3 <3 <3
> 
> For the three of you who know me IRL, you know my life has been a low-key dumpster fire for the last few weeks. Writing this fic, reading the Bang fics, and having Alby's beautiful art has been the brightest of spots, and I am so grateful. <3


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